


100 ways to say 'i love you'

by pouty



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, herbalist!soobin, paladin!yeonjun, yeonbin get married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pouty/pseuds/pouty
Summary: a collection of drabbles
Relationships: Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	1. 26. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He will be gone by the first rays of sunrise, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> herbalist!sb + paladin!yj  
> tw for slight mentions of dead bodies + blood

26.

When Yeonjun returns from a month-long assignment in the dead of the night, the Harvest Moon hangs high and bright in the sky, signalling the start of October. He isn’t the least bit surprised to find Soobin’s cottage dimly lit, a soft warm glow in the outskirts of the Acardian forest.

There are vines draping all across the exterior of his cottage, long and unruly, curling out where the afternoon light hits best. Yeonjun has seen how well Soobin takes care of his plants, tends to them daily, drapes them with expensive jewellery, often buys them new homes, lets them stretch their arms wide. They’re his livelihood, after all, and Yeonjun wonders how many life cycles these leaves and flowers have had, how much of the soil is new, which bits are from history.

Cautiously, he opens the front door and steps in. It creaks, harsh against the quiet of the night—a sign of prolonged unuse. 

His combat boots thump noisily against the soft pinewood flooring as he lets his eyes wander around the cozy interior, in search of the elven herbalist. Tasteful to Soobin’s reserved personality, his living space is simple: in the middle of the room lies a wooden table accentuated with artisanal glass vases, a wide bookshelf filled with journals spanning from botany to astrology, which he perused during his spare time. Flickering in the corner, a vanilla scented candle, and— _ah,_ thinks Yeonjun fondly, _that’s it—this smell._

Far, far better than the stench of rotten bodies he’s run into during his trek back to Arcadia, all doings of his own kind. 

He sets his bloodied rapier down with a deep sigh, leaves it by the doorstep. The Divine Rapier, one of the last remaining relics—a living reminder of Yeonjun’s vow to the late _King_. His only travel companion the past weeks. While far from hefty, its responsibility weighed heavily on Yeonjun’s heart.

It is strangely quiet, despite the time. Usually, the young herbalist would be missing sleep in favour of brewing strange concoctions one after another, while mumbling precise measurements under his breath. Yeonjun was never one for numbers, he thought they simply made for a potent lullaby. He ventures further, gently lifts the stone door to Soobin’s cellar.

As Yeonjun makes his way down, he’s greeted by Soobin soundly asleep over some scriptures, dog-earred at the sides. Curious, he tiptoes closer, his godforsaken boots crunching on several dried calendulas scattered across the room. 

_How To Bring Back A Loved One_ , Soobin wrote. There’s a rounded curve to his text, a sign of his innate adaptability and natural sociability, which Yeonjun has learnt over time. _Thyme: for a courageous knight I know—_

“...Mmfgh,” Soobin groans in his sleep. He rouses from where he’s slumped over his writing, and groggily looks around the room. His forest green eyes draw Yeonjun into his otherworldly beauty, not surprising for his Elven status. Much less for one of noble descent, a runaway prince when his kingdom fell into chaos a century ago.

His eyes flicker to Yeonjun, and Yeonjun has to bite his lip to hold back his excitement. _His beloved._ “You’re here,” Soobin says softly, voice still heavy with sleep. “I must be dreaming.”

“Yes.” Yeonjun laughs, “And no, Choi Yeonjun is indeed gracing you with his presence.”

Soobin stands up. Tall stature, cursed with a slight hunchback—yet, for someone dressed in dirty, scavenged robes, he still hasn’t lost his grace from the years he spent attending etiquette class, as the 28th Crown Prince. Except he never inherited the throne, and the kingdom is one for the history books now. 

He approaches Yeonjun, bringing up an adorned arm to cup Yeonjun’s cheek. Something akin to concern flashes in his eyes for a split second, before he looks away.

“You’re,” he sighs. “Bleeding, again.” 

Yeonjun smiles. “I’m aware,” he replies. “Left it there—simply wanted you to nurse me back to health, as always.” He lets Soobin lead him to their leather armchair, one that they had painstakingly crafted by hand together during his first week of self-sufficiency in the forest. 

“My services are expensive, you know,” Soobin retorts good-naturedly but he’s already gotten to work, grinding some yarrows in a stone mortar. 

Yeonjun knows that. Over the years, Soobin has cultivated a notoriety for his name. Hushed whispers resonated in the town hall about a powerful elven herbalist who fell off the right path. According to the mainlanders, he worked with rogues to gruesomely assassinate those in power. He charged a grand fortune of rare crystals in the deepest of mines, and herbs found only on the highest of mountaintops—it was no secret that his techniques lived up to his price. 

Soobin had claimed his own hopes for the city one night, no matter how severely misaligned to Yeonjun’s own. Since then, they’ve fallen into a natural pattern of meeting each other halfway. Somewhere along the way, Yeonjun started presenting himself simply as Choi Yeonjun, and not as the Second Commander of Order of the _Arcadian_ Empire. He supposes it’s been comfortable enough for the both of them, and they’ve never spoken about that night since.

Gently, Soobin pats the ground mixture onto the open gash of Yeonjun’s cheek. His fingers are cold. Yeonjun’s heart leaps in his chest—having Soobin in his immediate vicinity never does anything good to his resilience, even after a decade of arduous Knighthood training. 

“Why didn’t you write to me?” Soobin chastises, and Yeonjun feels a sting on his cheek where Soobin has purposefully applied more force. _Bastard._ “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Yeonjun answers. The words feel repetitive and empty, even to him. “Besides, what use do I have for pen and paper? It’s just extra bag space. You should know I can’t afford that.” 

Soobin doesn't say anything in return, and silently pulls Yeonjun down into the bed. Yeonjun goes pliant, as he lets Soobin rid him of his pesky gear. His long fingers do it quickly, seasoned from nights of practice. 

Yeonjun gives all of himself to Soobin.

He will be gone by the first rays of sunrise, anyway. 


	2. 39. "Don't cry."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeonjun keeps secrets. They get married!

39.

Marriage should be a grand affair. Extravagant, with an overbooked guestlist, bars lined up with an exhaustive display of wine from across the world, each with their own unique histories and taste profiles. Dinner should be multi-cuisine, multi-course—nothing short of a fine array of exotic seafood freshly air-flown from Hokkaido. 

At least, that was what Yeonjun’s mother believed. Chairlady of some multinational corporation Yeonjun never bothered to learn the name of, she compared her only son to the heirs of oil tycoons in their area, who got married off to ladies of a similar status, usually followed closely by some outlandish honeymoon, itineraries planned down to the hour. 

To say the very least, Yeonjun never saw the point of all the grandeur. All his life, he had dismissed his mother’s blatant matchmaking conquests for him to “ _get a wife, settle down, have a soccer team_ — _don’t you love soccer, boy?_ ” from the other side of the world, “I’m not ready. I have to graduate first, Ma. I gotta go study for my midterm now, love you, stay healthy, visit you in the summer—”

And here is what’s usually left unsaid: 

And no, Ma, I don’t love soccer. 

I would much, much rather dress up in skirts, and dance at the local stripclub. 

Even bowling is better than soccer. 

Also, I have a lover, and his name’s Soobin. 

We’re getting married this Autumn. 

May we have your blessings?

Autumn arrives just as the weather shifts into days far too cold for hitting the town in just a short, checkered skirt paired with fishnet stockings. Yeonjun decides to slip into a trusty pair of ripped, skinny jeans, the pair that hugs his frame just right, which he always falls to on days he wants to feel simply _hot._ He checks himself out in the reflection of his mirror, and he hears Soobin let out a deep whistle behind him. 

Yeonjun wiggles his ass, revelling in the slight clang of the metal chains he has hooked to loops of his belt. It never fails to make him feel grounded, sexy, _alive_. “Like what you see?”

“Love it,” Soobin complies. He looks dashing himself, dressed smart in a turtleneck which hardly hides the hickey Yeonjun had sneaked on him last night. “How did I land such a perfect fiancé, I’d like to know.” 

“Fiancé,” Yeonjun repeats. The word rolls weird out of his mouth. “That’s going to change, in a few hours.

They hold their wedding in a courthouse, without the usual razzle-dazzle.

“There’s already enough razzle-dazzle in my life,” Yeonjun had joked. “Something simple would suffice. Not when we have a lifetime of crippling debt ahead of us.” 

“Sure,” Soobin agreed readily. He understood Yeonjun’s complicated relationship with labels, boxes that exist to keep him caged. “Anything, for you.”

When they broke the news to their friends, Beomgyu had muttered a quick, “leave it to me!”, hopped onto his laptop and somehow got himself ordained online as a wedding officiant in fifteen minutes.

Well, at least that was one problem out of the way. 

Soobin had invited his parents, both soft-spoken, kind-hearted souls who carved a space for Yeonjun in their tiny, loving family home. As for Yeonjun, he invited his favourite uncle and his husband, who arrived with a homemade buttercream rainbow cake in tow.

Soobin’s sister takes him on a twirl around the dance floor with her son at the reception counter. 

“Look at you,” she coos, pink lips forming a pout, a _Choi_ family trademark. “I’m stoked to have you as my in-law.” She gives him a hug, towering over him almost the same way Soobin does. 

Every encounter with Soobin’s family only serves to explain where his boundless capacity for love came from. Soobin, who just completed his fellowship in neonatal-perinatal medicine, but spent a majority of his summer breaks in underserved areas of Uganda and Myanmar to provide neonatal intensive care. 

They walk down the wedding aisle arm-in-arm, a simple long, red rug laid out on the floor. Beomgyu waits for them at the makeshift altar, standing atop an overturned beer bottle crate, their combined height only barely breaching Soobin’s. Yeonjun has to resist a snort, so as to not ruin the moment.

  
  


“Don’t cry,” Soobin sobs into his ear, when the ceremony is over. He lifts a finger to catch the fat drops of Yeonjun’s tears, and then his own.

Yeonjun laughs—well, attempts to—but it comes out sounding like a disgustingly wet blubber instead, “You aren’t faring much better yourself, honey.” 

“I’m the one who cries in our relationship,” his now-husband whines, sniffing uglily into his handkerchief. “If you cry now, I’ll simply just have to cry harder.”

"Don’t use up all your tears yet,” Yeonjun can’t help but tease, through his tears. “Not till I’m done with you tonight.”

He doesn’t miss the way Soobin splutters, “Oh my god—”

Yeonjun leans in for a kiss again, and Soobin, cheeks already starting to stain a blotchy red with dried tears, obliges like he always does. When they break apart, Yeonjun feels giddy from exhilaration. From the corner of his eye, he spots his uncle flashing him a thumbs-up, hand-in-hand with his own husband, and a new wave of tears threaten to flood his vision again.

“We must both look so silly right now, huh.” Soobin says, cheeks flushed. 

A tungsten wedding band wraps itself snugly around Yeonjun’s ring finger, a simple grey one they had picked out just a week prior.

 _Marriage is a commitment, boy_ Yeonjun can hear his mother say with a long, drawn out sigh.

Strangely, he feels more liberated than anything, for this represents everything he’s worked himself to the bone for, to live a life of stability outside of his mother’s ruling iron fist. He supposes he did love his mother as a child—but he can’t promise the same now, not when she stands for everything he’s against. 

“May I have this dance, my dearest?” Soobin asks, extending a hand.

Yeonjun smirks, pulls Soobin closer to him instead, “Not if I beat you to it, honey.”

**Author's Note:**

> went too far with this for it to be posted on twitter, so. feel free to send [me](https://twitter.com/ulbossi/status/1318027566461014016?s=21) more prompts & pairings in the comments! 
> 
> chapters will be added as i progress slowly!


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